


Through the Looking Glass

by Sparcina



Series: The Sexy Ships of Star Trek [6]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: BAMF Lorca, BAMF Michael, Canon Divergent - Season 1, Cunnilingus, F/M, Ignores Mirror Verse, Intense Relationship, Lorca is basically half Prime half Mirror, Mutual Attraction, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Top Lorca, Top Michael, USS Archangel, consensual kinks, non-canon fictive technology, on top of canon fictive technology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-12-26 02:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18273731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: Michael has been told that Lorca isn’t afraid of her because he doesn’t fear the things that normal people fear. And then she’s been told that they're very much alike in that respect.Maybe the universe does hate waste. The waste of time, of silence. The waste of distance between two stars gravitating around each other.Thinking back on Lorca’s words, Michael can’t help but think that there’s more than one reason she decided to stay.





	Through the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently, I have this crush on Lorca (because he’s played by Jason Isaac and I’ve always found Lucius Malfoy one hell of an attractive BAMF). I haven’t seen all of Season 1 of Discovery yet, but I know how it ends, and I don’t like it, so I’ll go ahead and pretend it never happens. Furthermore, I found very few Lorcam fics (less than 80!), so here’s one more! *types away and thinks of Star Trek*  
> If you feel like it, look out for a) a quote from the show used by the wrong character b) a reference to Amanda

Michael thrived in a world of challenges. She never backed down from one if she could help it, and most of the time, she could. Such determination had served her well over the years, but at times, it had also damaged parts of her, dealt cracks to the masks she’d crafted so meticulously under Sarek’s watchful eye. She knew she could fail others and herself, had done so in spite of an ironclad will to do what was right, but she liked to think she could still trust her instincts. That belief, being both logical and emotional, was in perfect harmony with her intrinsic duality: human by nature and Vulcan by nurture.

Of course, nothing about her attraction to Lorca was logical.

*

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment the seed of her attraction for her new captain first took root in her _katra_ , but one day she looked at him and experienced a perplexing surge of… dizziness. She first blamed it on physiological weariness, which would make sense after a twenty-hour shift without a single pause or meal, but after a nap and a hearty lunch, and another shift with Lorca’s eyes boring into her back, she reached the only logical (frightening, exotic) conclusion:  _he_ was making _her_ hungry and restless. In other words: she desired him.

Gabriel Lorca radiated power. It showed in the way he held himself, poised for conquest; in the words he wielded always so lethally, as if he raged a war with every breath. When he looked at someone, he looked through them as well, took away every single layer of pretense and confidence until only a cracked veneer of resistance remained. And when he looked at her, well… His curiosity was unmistakable, and she considered it both flattering and threatening in its intensity. Before (before the desire morphed from a fickle thing to a permanent fixture in her mind), she would have taken comfort in the fact that she was harder to figure out than most, thanks to Sarek’s teaching, thanks to her beloved logic. Nowadays, however, Lorca was cutting at the seams of her indifference with every smile, every glance, every _Burnham_ rolling off his tongue.

She became increasingly nervous in his presence, blunter somehow, her facets shifting without finesse, as if the captain had shoved a finger in the gears that made up her complex personality and set a new course, because he was curious to see what would happen, because he wanted her deconstructed, exposed for his perusal.  She would hate him deeply for that, had he not, perhaps unconsciously, given away so much of his true self in his efforts to glance past the pride she wore like a second skin.

A mirror of her own torment.

_Burnham._

Michael would have stood straighter if she wasn’t already at parade rest, every muscle taut, features locked into concentration. Lorca sat a few feet to her right, and she could have sworn seduction was a tangible thing, for heat rolled off of him in waves that coiled around her limbs and suffused them with languor. She didn’t move, though. She remained perfectly still as she answered his questions, perfectly expressionless as that gripping need spread in her belly like so many promises of _more_. Oh, she could imagine only too well those hands, now casually resting on his seat’s armrests, wrapped tightly around her wrists. She could spin so easily yet another fantasy of his mouth gliding over the line of her neck, of his hot breath close, so close to her ear, whispering…

“Burnham?”

She startled. The gesture was minute, imperceptible for most, but Lorca was unique, uniquely observant, and she _felt_ him shift in his seat, _felt_ his gaze narrowing on her, the contemplation in its depth shifting to intrigue. Her heartbeat picked up, and the heat imposed to the crux of her thighs by that unwavering gaze, by all those questions unasked yet already answered, shattered what little was left of her concentration.

“Yes, Captain?”

“I believe your shift is over.”

The unexpected fondness in the words, the softness of his voice, didn’t tame the fire at all; it only stoked it further. She spun on her heels, locking away every single proof of her inner turmoil, and met his stare dead on.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. She could sense all the emotions he evoked within her rush to the surface, but she fought them as hard as she’d ever fought any Klingon. She might even have succeeded in pretending she was only a science specialist awaiting an order from her captain, had Lorca not leaned in towards her just hen, tongue briefly darting out to wet his lower lip. His pupils, she noticed in a daze of want, were so dilated that only two dark orbs remained, lust scorching hot at the surface.

A blush rose to her cheeks. Still, she didn’t look away. Lorca’s mouth parted, and the predatory gleam in his eyes swirled around the hunger already there, heightening it.

“You’d better get some rest,” he said, voice rough from a heady mix of anger and lust. He was gripping the armrests with such strength his knuckles had turned completely white.

The anger, she thought, heart hammering in her constricted chest. Was it directed at himself, for losing his masks just like Michael had? She swallowed hard. At long last, she tamed the redness in her cheeks, and with a sharp nod, stepped back towards the turbolift.

“I will see you later, Sir.”

As she lay awake that night, vaguely aware of Tilly’s snores, she wondered if Lorca was reining in his own urges because of her, or because of himself. He certainly was more in touch with his emotions than Michael had ever been, for all his efforts at pretending he was _only_ a man after his own ambitions, untouchable and uncaring. He was all of that, certainly, but he was so much more. And even though she may not have recognized it for what it was before now, she felt curiosity towards this man, at least as much as she felt attraction.

It was as sleep claimed her that she realized that Lorca might be just as wary of his attraction to her as she was of her attraction to him.

Afraid, even. Even predators were not immune to fear.

*

Two weeks and several excursions in Klingon territories later, Michael sat alone in the room she shared with Tilly. She had just finished exhausting work on the spore drive alongside Tyler and Stamets, and in spite of a trip to medbay, where Culber had complained that they all spent too much time endangering their lives and each other’s, she could still feel the burnt marks at her fingertips. She had been… distracted. Burdened by thoughts she shouldn’t entertain, for her own good. Culber was right about one thing: she _was_ endangering herself, by sustaining this… attraction. By allowing her mind to wander at night, by wondering about the precise texture of Lorca’s palms, the taste of his skin, the heat of his mouth, of his cock, between-

She scrambled to a sitting position, slamming a lid on this all-too-familiar train of thoughts. Her mind was becoming dependent on those fantasies, and her body ached for a touch, so she denied them both and reached under her bed, a space formerly occupied by Philippa’s telescope. In its stead now lay a small chest that only she could access. The treasure in it was not exactly legitimate work, but she was wont to disclose, even to her half-roommate, half-friend, the one thing that was left of Ripper.

Reverently, she injected the ten micro-claws beneath her nails. It had taken tremendous work, to engineer discreet and functional human-wielding claws out of the one broken claw the tardigrade had left for her to find, but she was nothing if not persistent. No matter what _some_ people might say should they find out about her secret… extensions, she had not designed a weapon. It had simply felt… natural, to adapt Ripper’s gift in a practical way. She didn’t plan to use it for war, or duplicate it. She just wanted to feel some connexion with a being she would never meet again.

And deep down, she wanted a way to defend those she cared for. Philippa… She would never fail a friend again, even if it was the last thing she ever did. It wasn’t logical, but she didn’t care.

As she usually did when she put on the micro-claws, she protracted and retracted them a few times. Some fine-tuning was required, as the claws still pierced her skin, but pain was an old friend, and the wounds were so tiny, so easily dismissed, really.

She was considering returning the claws to their hiding place when a black alert was announced. Her comm bleeped a heartbeat later.

“Lorca to Burnham.”

Before Michael had even made the conscious decision to stand, she was on her feet. Mentally chiding herself, she ordered her heart to slow down and injected a respectful indifference in her voice.

“Burnham here. What can I do for you, Captain?”

*

They met in his ready room. Michael knew that she was not here to discuss the spore drive like he’d said on the comm, and she knew that he knew that she knew. As the door slid closed behind her, she stepped forwards. The air felt thicker, closer to Lorca, but it was only an illusion, a misunderstanding of her body going haywire in this man’s presence.

Lorca stood behind his desk, but as soon as she moved, he moved, too. In a matter of seconds, he stood toe to toe with her, his body so close to her own she almost leaned in, almost. Frustration and anger, desire and curiosity, warred within her. She wanted to study Lorca with the whole of her senses, wanted to catalogue everything about him, wanted to strip him of every lie he’d ever built for himself, to see and hear and _taste_ the verity that was at the core of a Gabriel Lorca no one ever saw…

His hand brushed against hers. It was such an innocent touch, considering who they were, and what had brought them here, and yet Michael felt sparks tingle up her arm. Heat scorched her face from the inside out. Almost on autopilot, she pressed the pad of two fingers over the pulse point on Lorca’s wrist.

His heart was racing, even more frantic than her own. She felt him tense, felt him withdraw both physically and emotionally, but he’d let her know this, and if this was a trap, she’d already decided she’d rather confront its darkest recesses than remain forever in ignorance.

“Tell me you want to leave.”

Lorca’s voice was all gravel. Michael didn’t bother to repress the shiver that ran through her, didn’t even attempt to disguise the extent of her determination.

“I don’t think I will, no.”

Michael wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss, but between one moment in the next, they were coaxing each other’s mouth open with a matching roughness, and their teeth clashed, their tongues glided around each other’s with barely any finesse, exploring, discovering. Michael moaned in spite of herself as Lorca backed her up against the door and pined her there with his hips, his erection blatantly hard against her belly, and Lorca growled low in his throat _because_ she let herself be manhandled.

“Here it is,” Lorca purred as they parted for air. He brushed her lower lip with his thumb, licking his own lips with anticipation in his eyes. “The Michael Burnham you deny.”

“I-”

Lorca tugged at her lower lip, then rolled it gently between two fingers. Everything in his demeanor screamed that he wanted to hurt her, but she knew how to look past that, to read true intent behind the overcompensating violence.

“This Michael is warm, and needy.”

Michael blushed fiercely. Lorca’s hand at her nape moved to her lower back, crept up under her uniform shirt and caressed her spine upwards. His other hand set her lip free and moved down to her left breast, squeezing it possessively through the fabric. Her nipple hardened instantly. Pressed in between their bodies, Lorca’s cock twitched.

“I am not needy,” she argued hotly.

“Neither am I,” Lorca replied with a hint of self-derision, “but here I am nonetheless, indulging my body’s whims.”

Michael’s hand shot to his erection and palmed it through the thin fabric of his pants. The blunt gesture earned her a gasp, which she chased back to its source, thrusting her tongue into Lorca’s mouth. The hand on her breast tightened, while the other unclasped her bra with an ease borne of practice.

When Lorca broke the kiss and brought two fingers to her mouth, she latched onto them with more enthusiasm than either of them had probably expected. She took them to the last knuckle, relishing the texture she’d thought about for so long, watching raptly as Lorca’s lids dropped to half-mast. He wasn’t quite rutting against her belly (that would be too _vulnerable_ of a show), but he flattened his hand at her lower back and pulled her tighter against him.  

“I want to fuck you on this desk until you can’t walk straight.”

“I am amenable to that suggestion.”

Her heart pounded harder than ever as she stepped out of her uniform. Lorca didn’t take off anything beyond his vest. Her eyes zeroed on his hands as he brought down the zipper of his pants and lowered them just enough to pull his erection free of his underwear. His thighs were muscular and powerful looking, and his cock stood proud and thick against his shirt. Michael faced him, arms at her side, chin held high, and felt the balance tip back in her favor as Lorca’s eyes raked up and down her naked form twice. The tendons in his neck stood out, as if he was torn between conflicting needs. Michael bit down her lip.

“Will you sit on the desk for me?”

A demand disguised in a suggestion; he knew her well and pushed just enough. Michael hopped on the hard wood of the desk and spread her legs.

Lorca all but pounced on her. Bracing himself on the desk with one hand, he reached between her thighs with the other, all the while watching her. Never before had Michael shivered with anticipation, but as Lorca dipped one finger inside her, smooth and languid, and then two, she felt goosebumps explode across her skin.

“I think of you like this, to torment myself while you stand at your station, focused on the task at hand.”

He twisted his fingers and began pumping them in and out shallowly, watching the shift in micro-expressions on her face. As he sank them deeper and started to fuck her with gusto, his palm rubbing her clit on every inward thrust, a jolt of pleasure coursed through her. A growl left the captain’s throat, and his fingers picked up speed.  

“You’re wet, but not quite enough for what I have in mind.”

Michael snapped her hips forwards; it was worth it, to admit so readily to impatience, when the result was Lorca’s breath hitching.

“Tell me, Lorca,” she said as coolly as she could manage. “What is it you have in- _Oh._ ”

In one graceful motion, Lorca had sunk to his knees and pressed his face in between Michael’s thighs. His strong hands held her legs wide open as he mouthed at her folds and sucked at her clit. When he lapped at her entrance, parting her labia with his tongue, she cried out.

“Lor-ca…”

Without further ado, he thrust his tongue inside her, moaning in clear delight and, flatteringly, approval. Michael lifted her hips and rocked them in small, concentric circles, seeking more of him, deeper. She half-expected Lorca to try and pin her hips to the desk, but to her complete amazement, he fitted his palms around her buttocks and helped her rut against his face. She fucked herself on his tongue with a foreign but oh delightful abandon, even allowed herself to voice her pleasure in no uncertain terms. And if Lorca’s name kept turning up, well… He certainly knew how to give her pleasure, and he was kneeling in front of her, for her. The signification was not lost on her, and surely it wasn’t lost on him, either. The wariness Michael had felt for weeks now ebbed away, replaced by relief.

Reaching blindingly for Lorca’s head, she curled her fingers in his hair, holding on to him as that clever tongue of his caressed the most sensitive parts of her. Pleasure pulsed in her lower belly, thick and easily addictive, and she wanted to drown in it, in Lorca’s intense conquest of her body, if only-

He stopped as abruptly as he’d started. His eyes were pools of raw desire, and his lips and chin were wet with her juices. He licked his lips and chuckled darkly as he pushed himself back to his feet.

“You may call me Gabriel, if you wish.”

She allowed him to turn her around and arrange her body to his liking. Once she was bent at ninety degrees over his desk, he draped his body over hers and mouthed at every knob on her spine, cock throbbing between her buttocks.

“You are so fiercely beautiful, Michael,” he crooned as he stepped back, pulling her ass cheeks apart and pressing his erection against her soaking folds.

And then he rammed into her.

Michael would have lost her grip on the desk had she not been so steady on her feet. As it was, she had to brace her knees against the desk and press her upper body on top of it. Lorca, no, _Gabriel_ , was fucking her just as hard as he’d promised, and now she understood why he’d spent so much time ensuring she was properly stretched beforehand. His grip was bruising on her hips, but she no delicate flower and could take, could _enjoy_ such treatment of her body. The position was well chosen, as it allowed Gabriel to drag his cock along that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of her, but she wanted to see him break apart more than she sought her climax.

Without warning, she twisted around, dislodging his cock in one swift motion. She barely had time to hop on the desk, legs splayed to present herself, because Gabriel slammed back home, one hand fisted in her hair, the other a secure vice at her throat. His dark eyes were filled with all the galaxies he had yet to conquer, and right now, _she_ was the _only_ thing, the only being, alive or otherwise, that he was coveting.

“You always want… the last word, don’t you… Michael? So… insubordinate, _mutineer_.”

Rage flooded Michael, and before she could think better of it, she spit in Gabriel’s face, her teeth exposed in a display of animalistic aggressivity. If Gabriel had laughed, she might have kicked him in the balls and punched him for good measure, but he’d slowed down and didn’t sneer, didn’t smile. His hand at her throat turned caressing, apologetic.

“I feel… exposed with you.”

“And so do I, but I don’t act like an asshole because of it.”

Gabriel caressed her side in what could be interpreted as tenderness. “I apologize.”

She narrowed her eyes, but her instincts told her that the remorse was genuine. She relaxed minutely.

“You protect and defend yourself with so little grace, Lor- Gabriel.”

He didn’t reply anything to this, but she read acknowledgement in his eyes.

“Tell me what you want, Michael.”

“I want you,” she said sternly, “to stop talking.”

He arched an eyebrow. Inwardly, she shook her head.

“ _And_ to make good on your promise, before I am turned off completely by your appalling manners.”

Gabriel had that look about him, a look she knew well; a mixture of exasperation, amusement, curiosity, fondness. More often than not, the fondness was only a thin layer under the thicker veil of exasperation, but right now, it shone brightly in his eyes, mesmerizing like tears unshed.

He kissed her on the lips, lightly. His cock was still hard, but it had slid away and was out of her view as he bent down to take each breast into his mouth. When she showed signs of impatience, he guided his erection back to her aching core and resumed the brutal pace he’d set earlier. It wasn’t long before he had one hand back at her throat, possessive and somehow non-threatening. It was a sign of insecurity that he offered her freely, it seemed, and she took it, as well as the frantic fucking, as the ultimate proof that he was just as naked as she was.  

She cried out, head thrown back, on one particularly hard thrust. The pleasure had been rekindled and was spreading thorough her body in searing sparks of bliss. Gabriel’s face was slightly flushed, and she wondered if his chest would match, should she tear the fabric apart.

“You need for me… The strength of it… astounds me,” he rasped, fingers tightening on her throat. “I am… _fuck_ … so grateful for it. For you.”

“You’re talking,” Michael managed to get out.

A finger probed her labia stretched thin around his cock. “And my voice, my words, make you wetter than ever.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I am thankful for that, too.”

The digit moved to her clit, circled and pressed in a series of clever touches that heightened her pleasure. She cried out, and it might have been Gabriel’s name.

“So beautiful,” he growled, squeezing her throat. “So powerful, even as you lie there open for me.”

She felt how easily she responded to this voice, how readily she soaked Gabriel’s cock. She covered the hand at her throat. She wasn’t trying to pry those calloused fingers away; she knew she could overpower him. Rather, she held on to that touch, to that mark, demanded that it remained. She felt stretched thin where they were connected, all the more so up here than down there. In a way she couldn’t begin to explain, she was torn between two opposites of equal appeal, and she wanted more, she wanted-

Gabriel’s lips curled in that half-sneer, half-smile that had brought her here in the first place. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, wetting the corner of his not-quite-smile. Just as he yanked her head back and leaned to mouth at her throat in between their interlaced fingers, Michael shifted her hips just so. The next thrust went deeper still, and Gabriel growled, just before he sank his teeth over her wayward pulse, drawing blood to the surface.

“Michael…”

She wasn’t sure why she reached for Gabriel’s back with her claws protracted just then. Out of a desire to claim him just as he was claiming her now, mouthing at the bleeding wound at her throat with the urgency of a starving man? Later, she would berate herself for her thoughtlessness, because Gabriel was as unrelenting in his curiosity as she was with hers, and they would fight, Gabriel arguing that he needed a weapon, and then they would fuck, or Gabriel would eat her at length, telling her just how _perfect_ a weapon she was for him, but as she sank her claws into Gabriel’s back, only the tip, only the tinniest bit, and felt her lover’s skin give and blood well up to adorn the diamond-hard metal, as she heard Gabriel cry out in a mixture of pain, disbelief and agonizing pleasure, she could only offer the yet unmarred side of her throat, and press her heels even harder in the captain’s lower back, the entirety of her being yearning for a closer union, an even share of ecstasy.

“Fuck.” Gabriel was panting heavily in her neck, hands clasping and unclasping on her body. “You’re enjoying my pain as… much as you delight… in yours, don’t you?” He lapped at the wound at her neck, before biting down again. Pleasure sizzled all the way down to her toes. “Don’t you?” he growled.

“Yes!”  

Suddenly, his hands covered her face, fingers searching frantically for the meld points neither of them could use. Michael’s eyes widened even as her heart threatened to stop. The pleasure pulsing under her skin grew brighter, other, as her lover sought her gaze, his own unaccountably transparent, unsteady.

“If I could… If you were… I would show you everything.”

Everything he wanted from her, everything he thought she needed from him, the gloriousness of their bond, as _t’hy’lara_. The emotion in his eyes moved her in a way their fucking hadn’t until now. Every part of her that was attracted to him, emotions and logic, the call of her body and the longing of her heart, fused together in a completed puzzle that she hadn’t even been aware had been a mess of mismatching pieces until now. Tears burning at the corners of her eyes, she brought Gabriel’s mouth to her, drowned in the taste of him and her own pleasure, her own blood. The fingers on her face traveled back to her neck, ten points of anchor pressing hard, a mirror to the lines she’d drawn on his back.

“I’ve… wanted this… for so long.”

“At your… mercy?” Michael rasped. Teasing, testing him.

Gabriel kissed her forehead. In. Out. In. Out. He was showing signs of fatigue, but he was barely slowing down. “Never. Unless you call… this, now, my… surrender…”

He made to let go of her throat, but she captured both hands. Gabriel’s eyes flickered to her exposed claws.  

“I believe… I fell for a woman… well beyond my reach.”

“You wanted… a weapon.”

Another test.

Gabriel’s pounding lost its regularity at last, but his thrusts seemed to gain a newfound brutality. It was as though he wanted to defy physics and merge with her, if not mentally, on the physical plane. And it hurt, Michael thought, gritting her teeth, but she wanted Gabriel like this, naked in every way, the violence in him unleashed, the want entirely bare. She wanted to feel him later, when she walked, when she sat, when he looked at her.

“I want to see you come,” Gabriel growled in between pants, tightening his grip on her windpipe further, just enough to make her slightly, wonderfully, light-headed. “Let go, Michael. I’ll catch you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. She wanted to come, wanted the release so badly, but there was something missing… She tried to speak, but Gabriel kisser her anew, and she felt one of his hands reach down between their bodies. He stimulated her clit expertly, hard but with clear purpose, and she soared higher. Her thighs were shaking from exhaustion, but there was something holding her back, a doubt she couldn’t decipher, the last piece of the puzzle she’d thought complete…

“Ga… briel.”

Gabriel let go of her throat entirely and picked one of her hands. Eyes locked on her, he pressed his tongue against her palm and licked his way up to her index finger. When the tip brushed the claw, she felt a violent tremor go through her entire body. A wicked grin played on Gabriel’s blood-smeared lips.

“Show me… Michael.” He pressed his tongue in the space between two fingers, eyes brimming with joy, and confidence. “Let me feel you… as you feel me.” A new intensity tightened his features. “Mark me. Again.”

She pulled her arm back, extended her fingers, and slapped Gabriel with just enough strength to graze the skin. Five thin lines blossomed on his right cheek. Gabriel exhaled sharply, the pleasure sharp in his expression, smoothing over the tightness of pain etched in his features.

“God,” he blurted out, and for one moment, as she too reached the point of no-return, she thought he meant her.

Gabriel’s jaw went completely slack and his hips stuttered to a halt. Warmth flooded her insides, and she felt herself tighten around him, drawing his seed deeper still. Gabriel’s face was a study in admiration and astonishment, a delicious sight she immediately committed for memory. Satisfaction and bliss coursed hot in her veins as she lifted a hand to cup the captain’s jaw, painting her fingertips red in the process.

“You’d better let me sit at my station tomorrow,” she said in a rough voice.

“If you share my bed tonight, I will.”

Michael couldn’t decide if this was an admission of vulnerability (the need for closeness after intimacy), or the simple expression of his possessive nature.

She didn’t mind as much as she would have expected.

*

The next time the USS _Discovery_ went to black alert, Michael blushed. Of course, Stamets noticed as soon as he left the chamber, even with that dreamy look in his eyes.

“Hell, what’s got you all flustered, Burnham?”

“It’s none of your business,” Michael bit back, never looking away from the computer, where digits and symbols that had made a lot of sense second priors had morphed into Gabriel’s face, into the delicious, _helpless_ expression he’d gotten when she’d slapped him to orgasm. “Lieutenant,” she added stiffly.

“Seriously,” Tilly whispered a moment later. “You look weird.”

Michael gritted her teeth. In her head, she could hear that dark yet fond chuckle that was only hers, whenever she was alone with Gabriel. “I’m fine,” she said.

And she was fine. She may not wear as many masks as she once had, but then neither did Gabriel. Nothing about their (secret) relationship was logical, but some challenges never were.

And emotions, for better or for worse, were part of the path she’d set for herself.


End file.
